


Sick Day

by aelin_and_feyre



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, post KoA, sick!aelin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 10:25:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14258958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelin_and_feyre/pseuds/aelin_and_feyre
Summary: Aelin is sick and Rowan takes it upon himself to take care of his wife





	Sick Day

Of course. The day of the ball - the huge party for Lysandra’s birthday that Aelin has been planning for months - of course she had to wake up sick. Rowan had told her. He had tried warning her that the stress of the planning and the countless hours of making invitations would lead to her body breaking down. Aelin had just been hoping it would happen after the celebration.

She knew it the moment she woke up, before she had even opened her eyes. Her throat stuck when she tried to swallow, and her chest tightened every time she took a breath. Queen Aelin is sick, but there is no way she is letting her King know. Today is not the day for ‘I told you so’s.

So, Aelin cracks open her tired and most likely bloodshot eyes, squinting against the harsh light coming in from the window. She stifles a groan as she sits up, her limbs feeling heavy. Standing on wobbly legs, Aelin attempts to walk towards the closet. Perhaps if she can get dressed and out of their chambers before Rowan wake up, he won’t find out about her dreadful state. Through sheer willpower and stubbornness, Aelin is sure she can make it through the day.

Sniffling the whole way, Aelin makes it to her closet, picking an outfit that will not cinch her already tight chest, or hinder her stumbling legs. Looking down at herself, Aelin sighs. It’s not the most queenly thing she could be wearing, but it’ll do until she needs to get ready for the party.

Placing a hand to her pounding head, the Queen of Terrasen begins to tiptoe across her large bedroom, hoping not to wake her mate. Unfortunately, after walking through a particularly dusty slit of sunlight, Aelin can’t help the coughing fit that overcomes her body.

Rowan wakes up with a start, his hand grappling with the blankets in the part of the bed that his wife should be. Upon not finding her, Rowan wildly looks around. When he sees his wife, hunched over, coughs wracking her body, he is out of bed and across the room in an instant.

Scooping his Queen into his arms, Rowan sends a quick gust of wind around the room, checking that all windows and doors are secure and locked. Aelin groans against his chest. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.”

“What do you mean? What happened?” As he carries her back to bed, worry creases his brows. His hand comes up to her forehead and he gasps. “Fireheart, you’re burning up.”

“I’m always burning up.” Aelin grumbles, frustrated that he is setting her back on their bed when she has so much work to do, but also savoring the relief that floods her limbs as he holds her.

Rowan shakes his head, kneeling in front of her. His hands travel down to her cheeks, searching her tired eyes. “Love, you’re sick.”

Aelin slumps, any pretense she might have been upholding, now completely crumbled. “Please do not say ‘I told you so’.”

Rowan chuckles, sliding his arms under his mate once again and turning around. He places a small kiss to her hot forehead. Aelin’s eyes slip closed at the feeling. “Never. Right now, we just have to make you better.”

A peaceful smile places itself on Aelin’s lips, allowing herself to be carried towards the bathing room. Dragging the back of her hand under her nose, Aelin sniffs. Setting her on the sink counter, Rowan draws a bath. As they wait for the tub to fill up with the cool water, Rowan constantly sending cool drafts of air through the small room, the king slowly undresses his queen.

He strips her of her tunic and trousers, supporting her weight as her head lolls to the side. Her burning eyes fall closed more times than they open. She sniffs again, weakly holding up her arms to allow Rowan to pick her up. Gently, the male slips his arms under her, easily carrying her almost limp body. He sets her into the cool water, Aelin hissing at the steam evaporating off her burning body.

“Fireheart, I’m so sorry you’re so miserable.” Rowan murmurs, a soft groan elicited from Aelin in response. Why did she think she could survive the day without him?

After laying a cool washcloth on her forehead, Rowan gets to work slowly washing his mate. He uses her favorite lavender soap, dragging a washcloth down her chest, over her stomach, between and down her legs. Gently, his hands travel across the back of her scarred shoulders and down her arms. Aelin only distantly recognizes the contact. When she is clean and the water has stopped sizzling, Rowan pulls over the basket full of hair products.

“Lemon verbena, rose, or jasmine?” He asks, suddenly remembering another instance, a life time ago, when she asked him the same question. He’s sure she’ll care more than he had.

Aelin hums, a groggy smile gracing her drained features. “Jasmine, please.” Rowan nods and begins massaging the tonic into her hair. A low purr emits from the back of Aelin’s throat, but it is raspy and strained. She attempts to breathe in the jasmine aroma, but is unable with her stuffed up nose. She cringes sadly.

“Shh, it’s alright, love,” Rowan soothes, pressing a light kiss on her still warm forehead and continuing to brush the potion through her long golden locks. “Dunk.” He instructs, slowly pushing her under the now murky water to wash out the remaining suds. Pulling the fluffiest towel, Rowan carefully lifts his mate from the milky liquid and wraps the fabric tightly around her. He secures another in her hair and guides her out the door.

Aelin, who’s chest now feels much lighter, smiles softly at her husband, bringing a hand up to brush along the side of his jaw. “What did I do to deserve you?” She murmurs sleepily while she shuffles towards the closet for the second time that morning. This time, Rowan’s hand on her hip keeps her delightfully steady.

“Everything, Aelin, you did everything,” Rowan responds in a soft voice, his tone is welcome considering her still pounding headache. He pulls out one of his loose pairs of trousers and a large shirt. Aelin sets her hands on his shoulders while he kneels to help her into the pants, and then holds her arms up so he can easily slip the shirt over her head.

When she is dressed, clean, and lazily content, Rowan observes his work. Satisfied with her appearance in his clothes, Rowan grasps her face softly in between his palms. He kisses her warm forehead, then each of her pink cheeks, then the tip of her red nose. Aelin attempts to reach up and meet his lips with her own but Rowan scoops her up before she has the chance.

Once again carrying his mate, Rowan makes his way to their bed. With one hand, he holds her up and deftly pulls back the covers with the other. Her eyes droop, her mouth stretching into a lazy smile. “I love you, you know that right?”

Rowan chuckles, his eyes full of warmth and passion. “I love you too, Fireheart. Now sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up, hopefully you’ll feel better after a nice nap.” He snuggles the blankets up around her chin, setting a box of tissues on the table next to her along with a glass of water. He’s about to part with her in order to fetch some soup or tea, but a coughing fit overtakes her.

When she finally catches her breath, Aelin simply reaches a hand towards her mate and he knows what she wants. Walking around the bed, he slips under the blankets behind her, pulling his wife against his chest. Rowan brushes her hair away from her sweaty forehead, rubbing soothing circles on her stomach. “Sleep, love.” He whispers quietly.

The Queen is asleep in moments, the slow rise and fall of her congested chest and the slight rasp as air flows through her rough throat the only sounds in the royal chambers.

Aelin wakes many hours later to a damp cloth being dragged down her face. Her mouth is dry and she can already feel the drool drying in a line from the corner of her lips to her chin. Her hair is mussed and much is stuck to her forehead, and her nose is still unbelievably stuffy. However, she does feel better than when she went to sleep.

Rowan smiles down at her as she cracks her eyes open, depositing the washcloth in a basin of cool water and settling on the bed by her hip. “Hello, Fireheart, how are you feeling?”

“Pretty good,” Aelin replies, but it comes out in a hoarse whisper. She curses, the sound barely reaching her mate’s fae ears.

He smiles ruefully. Handing her a cup of tea, Rowan instructs her to drink sips. The hot liquid running down her throat both hurts and soothes. When she’s finished half the cup, Rowan then offers her a bowl of soup, hand feeding spoonfuls of warm broth that fills her grumbling stomach. When she has scarfed that down, along with a half a loaf of bread and the rest of the tea, Aelin does feel infinitely better.

“I think I’m okay to go to the party now,” She guesses, attempting to swing her legs off the bed that she might stand and begin getting ready.

Rowan chuckles, placing a hand on her stomach and securing her in to the bed. “Oh, no you don’t. The party already started,” She opens her mouth to object but Rowan beats her to it. “It’s completely taken care of, Lysandra totally understands why you’re not there, it’s fine. The whole kingdom wants you to be resting, including your mate,” He points to himself, one eyebrow raised. “That would be me, and as a good mate, I refuse to let you leave this room until you are nice and healthy again.”

Aelin grumbles, crossing her arms defiantly. “I can’t believe you let me sleep through the party.” She mutters, now regretting not asking what time it was when she woke up. He had the curtains drawn for a reason. Sliding grumpily under the covers, the Queen refuses to acknowledge her husband. She knows he is just trying to do what’s best for her, because he loves her, or whatever, but right now, she really just wants to go enjoy the party.

Rowan sighs, taking a hand to lift her chin above the edge of the blankets. “Fireheart…” He murmurs, sliding down the mattress as well so that he can look her in the eye. “You would be miserable at the party and you know it. You can barely stand, your limbs are so weak.”

“But I wanted to dance,” She whines, not caring that she is acting childish.

Rowan clicks his tongue. It’s silent for a few moments other than the occasional sniffling of the Queen. Finally, Rowan throws back the covers, and Aelin looks at him, surprised. He slides from the bed and holds his hand out to help her as well. “C’mon, let’s dance.”

A faint smile makes it’s way onto Aelin’s lips as she takes her husband’s hand and allows him to gently pull her from the bed. She stumbles a bit on the cool floor, but Rowan is there, sliding his arm around her waist and hoisting her a couple inches in the air, only to settle her back down so she’s balancing on his feet.

Wiping her nose on the back of her hand, Aelin’s befuddled mind is going a hundred miles an hour. She feels like crying at how amazing her mate is, and Rowan can see that in her eyes. He grins down at her, pulling her close and swaying to a music that only he can hear.

“I don’t like being sick,” Aelin states. “But I like you when I’m sick.” The King raises an eyebrow. “You’re much nicer, more caring.” He throws his head back and laughs, then drops his forehead to the crook of her neck.

“When you’re completely better, my attitude towards you in the bathtub is going to change drastically, trust me.” He promises, and despite herself, a shiver is sent down Aelin’s spine.

“I’ll hold you to that,” She rasps, eyes already becoming heavy once again. “But for now, I’ll enjoy my mate taking care of me.”

He presses a kiss to her temple, slowing their swaying. “Anything for you, Fireheart.”

The next time the Queen of Terrasen is sick, she doesn’t try to hide it from the King.


End file.
